


Ganymede Targaryens (Or As Good As)

by Embrystical



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Red Dwarf
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-07 17:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4271409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embrystical/pseuds/Embrystical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, some way, some of the most powerful men, women, boys and girls of Westeros have found themselves stuck on a mining ship three million years into deep space. Some, like Sansa and Margaery, are right at home with the boys of the Dwarf, doing all they can to remedy the mess the crew have made during their years apart from women. Others, however, might have just a little bit of angst on their minds...</p><p>Set during Red Dwarf Series VII era, before Rimmer leaves to become Ace, featuring sex-repulsed!Rimmer and demisexual!Lister, and ASOIAF era at the end of A Storm of Swords, featuring quoiromantic!autistic!Sansa.</p><p>ASOIAF extra AU: The Red Wedding never happens (but the Purple Wedding still does).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arriving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cassidy (you know who you are)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cassidy+%28you+know+who+you+are%29).



**Ship time: 0500 hours.**

**Dave Lister's bunkroom.**

* * *

 

"I never said a smegging thing about-" Rimmer kissed him again, cutting him off, "-No more dates, just-"

Rimmer pulled away from him. "Lights!" he shouted, illuminating the room, before he cringed at the sight of something underneath the bunk room sink. "What the smeg are your dayglow orange moon boots doing  _there_ , Lister, of all places?"

He shrugged. "Kryters said he wanted to borrow them. I guess he must have changed his mind or summat."

"Whatever. But you're still a goit for cancelling that movie."

"I had to treat me athlete's foot, you smegger!"

* * *

**Ship time: 0530 hours.**

**Drive Room.**

* * *

 

Sansa shivered as she came to her senses again, and nearly fell - would have, if Jon hadn't caught her.

"I got you, sis," he said, smiling at her as he set her back on her feet and she wiped the cool sweat off her forehead.  _Seven hells,_ she thought,  _it's cold in here. Like...like beyond the wall or something._ _  
_

"Don't call me 'sis', though," she said to John, then nuzzled back up to Jaime. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "How should I know?"

"Daaaad!" two synonymous voices shouted, and Tommen and Myrcella knocked their father to the ground as Sansa looked up to see Cersei glaring at her from the doorway. Then Myrcella stood up and stared at the walls of the room, all covered with strange screens and flashing letters. "Mum, come look, quick! There's all this really strange writing on these walls, and it's moving. It's like magic!"

* * *

**Ship time: 0535 hours.**

**Parrott's Bar.**

* * *

Why couldn't Lister just  _understand?_ It wasn't his fault Rimmer didn't want to go on dates with him, how could he ever think that? He just...wanted to have some time with just the two of them for once. It was always all three of them when they were on dates. And it wasn't that he didn't love the Cat as well, but he could be a bit...one-sided when it came to certain parts of the relationship compared to others. It was okay for Lister, because he didn't seem to mind it, doing whatever Cat wanted him to do. But Rimmer? The idea of... _those_ kinds of things freaked him out more than anything, really made his skin crawl.

"Bloody smegging cat," he swore under his breath as Kryten brought him another drink. "What's this?"

The mechanoid paused for a moment, then said, "Martini, sir."

"Like James Bond's?"

"Exactly so, sir. Only, well...stirred, not shaken."

RImmer nodded, then scowled. "I always hated that goit."

"Who?"

"Bond, you nitwit. He was always the hero."

Kryten shifted awkwardly on his feet - or about as awkwardly as a mechanoid  _could_ , anyway. "Well, sir, he  _was_ the main character. He was supposed to be the hero."

"That's the smegging point you walking lump of wires and plastic! He was always so stereotypical, so  _perfect._ "

Kryten stared at him for a few seconds, put the drink down properly on the table and pulled out a chair beside Rimmer.

"What are you doing?"

Gingerly, he put an arm around RImmer - thank goodness he'd just been upgraded to hard light, huh - and lightly (for a mechanoid) patted him on the shoulder. "I'm trying to console you, sir. Would you like me to stop?"

_Yes,_  was his instinctive first answer, but then he found himself shaking his head. "No, thank you, Kryten, that's very nice of you. I think I'm already starting to feel better."

* * *

**Ship time: 0540 hours.**

**Drive Room.**

* * *

"So...who exactly are you people?"

Krissie stared at the first other human woman she'd seen in millions of years and nearly burst into tears. Thankfully, though, one of them answered the question before she could start blubbering.  _But only just._

"My name's Sansa," the auburn-haired one said, bobbing a small curtsey before awkwardly going to stand beside a tall, blond man who's right arm ended in a stump. "This is Jaime."

She stared at them both, then at the two children - one nearly a teenager, mind - sitting at the man's feet. "And them?"

'Jaime' nodded. "My children, Myrcella and Tommen."

Krissie looked at Sansa, then at the children, and frowned again.  _I need coffee._ "You look very young for your age, then."

Another, colder voice answered this time. "Those are my children, not hers," another blonde-haired person said, stepping out of the shadows like one of your classic fictional villains and pulling the girl - Myrcella - away from where she sat.

"We're a bit like Targaryens that way, Cersei and I," Jaime said.

She felt like her head was about to explode. "What do you mean-"

"We're twins," they said in unison, as Cersei reluctantly let go of her daughter's hand, and Myrcella ran back to sit with her brother again. "It's...a very awkward topic."

"Right...isn't that illegal?" Krissie asked, putting a hand to her forehead.

Jaime vaguely shook his head. "The Targaryens used to do it all the time, marry brother to sister."

"Targaryens? Who the smeg are they?"

And then, just as she was hoping that her head might start to clear a little...

"YOW!"


	2. I Wear High Heels Better Than You

**Ship time: 0700 hours.**

**Cafeteria.**

* * *

Amazingly, however, Cat seemed much better at working out what was going on. Even if he did have to resort to using hand puppets - Krissie hadn't the faintest clue where he'd found them - to explain that no, they were not in this "Westeros" place everyone kept going on about, they were on a mining ship.

"So...where's all the gold, then?" Cersei asked, gesturing around at the empty cafeteria before casting another disgraced look at the breakfast Kryten had given her, cold porridge for 'another inny and outty bit person' like her.  _I see he's forgotten near enough all of his prejudices against women, then._ "Or do you only mine gems?"

Just as she was asking this, Lister and Rimmer decided to stroll in, arm in arm and Lister's other hand holding a can of lager. Rimmer seemed half drunk, and Kryten followed them with a packet of poppadoms and a bowl of steaming hot curry.  _Of course, vindaloo. How could I have guessed?_ "Morning," he said, yawning in exaggeration. "So who're all this lot, then?"

"Well they're more stylish than you, goalpost head," Cat snickered, putting his arm around a once-again shivering Sansa. "'Specially this one. Even if I do wear heels better than her."

The girl stared at him in bewilderment. "Why are your teeth so pointy?"

 _You're only just noticing?_ "That's because he's a cat," Krissie said. "Generally, they have pointier teeth than humans."

"He's a cat?" Tommen asked, bouncing up onto his feet and upending his plate of macaroni - which he had all but demolished, much to his mother and sister's disgust - onto the floor. "Can I hug him? Can I? Can I?"

Cat swerved away as the boy jumped up to try and hug him. "Personal space, buddy. Ever heard of it?"

Apologising, the boy settled back into his seat and put his head on the table. "I'm tired."

Lister nodded thoughtfully. "Not surprised. What time did you lot get here?"

"A few hours ago?" Margaery guessed.

"Ach, well, that'll explain him, then," he said, jerking a thumb at the now-sleeping Tommen. "You lot'll be needing some rest. There's plenty of bunk rooms all over the ship, you can take your pick." He paused. "Well, except for the one with all the 'Arnold does it best' newspaper clippings on the door. That's mine and Rimmer's room."

Margaery frowned, then pulled someone up to stand beside her. "Does that mean...you two are like my brother, then?"

"Like who?"

She pushed him forward again, and very stiffly he introduced himself as Loras.

"Well?" she asked, once he had explained his 'orientation'.

Lister and Rimmer exchanged an awkward look, then Lister shook his head and said,

"No, not exactly."

* * *

**Ship time: 0800 hours.**

**Lister's Bunkroom.**

* * *

"What did you mean, 'no, not exactly'?"

Lister rolled his eyes and turned over towards the wall as Rimmer tried to pull the blanket off him to make him sit up. "Just leave it be, alright?"

"No, I want to know. The man's obviously gay, so why didn't you say yes?"

Sighing again, he yanked the blanket back onto his side viciously. "Just because, Rimmer."

"Because? Because  _what?_ What, are you embarrassed or something? Ashamed? Ashamed of me?"

 _Don't say that._ "I could never be ashamed of you if I tried."

"Oh, yes you could, very easily. You saw that man - he's far better looking than me. So why don't you go shag him instead, hm?"

"We don't  _shag_ , Rimmer, you know we don't."

"Exactly."

"Because  _you_ don't want to, Rimmer," Lister pointed out. "That's why you want to go on dates all the time, isn't it? To get away from the Cat?"

He turned over and stared at the first technician until he finally turned around and nodded sulkily. "You won't tell him?"

"Course not! Besides, with all these other folk about, he probably won't be that bothered about you and me much longer."

"Brilliant encouragement, Lister."

He shrugged. "We both know it's true."

* * *

**Ship time: 1200 hours.**

**Movie Theatre.**

* * *

"Those," Cat said, pointing at the cinema screen, "Are high heels."

Sansa's face paled like a ghost's - or, you know, a hologram's, as Rimmer now pointed out - as he held up the shoes that he had brought with him as well, and half-shoved them into her face. "They look really weird," she mumbled. "And those big ones-" she pointed at the cinema screen, "Are hideous as well."

"Weird?" Cat whirled around and then turned to glare at her, teeth flashing and making Tommen grin again from where he sat a few seats up from Sansa. " _Hideous?_ Who are you, Goalpost Head?"

She stared at him. "Who's that?"

"That smeghead Rimmer - you know the one."

Trying to stay as polite as possible, she shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"Well he's...he's..." Cat trailed off as he forgot how to think (not that he did overly much of it, of course) and threw the shoes at her. "Put those on, will ya?"

"Why?"

"I want to see how long it takes you to trip up wearing them."

Sneaking constant frightened glances at him, she slipped off her sandals - most possibly the ugliest things Cat had ever seen - and half-forced her feet into the shoes, before standing up and instantly falling over. Pouting as she rested her chin on her hands, she glared at him. "Thanks for that."

"Hey, not  _my_ fault you can't wear those fabulous things properly." Rolling his eyes, he clicked his fingers expectedly. "Come on, give them here. I'll show you how it's done."

As he strutted magnificently back and forth in the strappy stilettos, Sansa watched him with fascination, occasionally reached over to hold Tommen's hand whenever the boy remembered what Cat had said to him when he'd tried to hug him.

"See?" he announced at last, striking a very... _revealing_ pose that forced Sansa to hold her hands up in front of the boy's eyes. _Talk about masculine._  "I told you I wore heels better."

* * *

**Ship time: 1215 hours.**

**Parrott's Bar.**

* * *

Krissie sipped casually at her drink as Margaery, Loras, Rimmer and Lister all sat down, careful to keep them on either side of her, out of hitting distance. _Just in case._ "A drink?" she offered, holding up her glass as an example. Slowly, each of them nodded, and she waved her hand up in the air - yes, she could tell she was drunk, she knew what she was doing - and called Kryten over. "They want something to drink," she slurred.

"Wine, please, a lot of it," the Tyrell siblings said in unison.

"Beer," Lister grumbled.

"Champagne," Rimmer said politely, straightening his posture as he made the request, and Kryten nodded, turning back to Margaery.

"Any preference, ma'am?"

She went to speak, then thought about it, and asked, "You don't know where the Arbor is, do you?"

"The what, ma'am?"

Smiling, she shook her head. "No, no, I'm being silly. Of course you won't know it - it's in Westeros. Just...just the wine that you think tastes best."

"I...I am afraid that I do not drink, ma'am. The 4000 series is not equipped for ingesting fermented vegetable drinks."

Krissie seemed to sober up quite a lot with this comment, though, and leaned forward past her companion. "Just bring six glasses with the champagne, Kryten."

"Six, miss Kochanski ma'am? But...there are only five of you here."

She nodded.  _Correct, you bug-head bastard._ "We've hung enough shiny things on the ceiling - Cat should be able to smell the glitter from the other end of the ship."

Kryten bobbed his head in agreement again and scuttled off to do as he was bid, and the moment he had left the room, Lister turned on Rimmer.

"What the smeg are you wanting  _champagne_ for?" he teased, not entirely kindly. "Trying to make a good impression?"

Rimmer instantly clammed up.  _Can't say I'm surprised, of course._ "A...a good impression? Why would I want to do that?" Their company frowned. "Well, no, I didn't mean it like  _that_ , per se, because obviously that would be incredibly rude, but..."

"But what?" Loras asked, leaning forward and resting his chin in his palm. "What, am I making you uncomfortable?"

"N-no, of course not."

 _Liar._ "Maybe we should put some music on," Krissie suggested, standing up and heading over to the dusty old jukebox in the corner of the room. Not suprisingly, Lister quickly followed.

"I didn't mean to do that," he said.

She nodded as she held her hand out and he handed her a dollar-pound for the music. "I know. Still shouldn't have done it, though."

"Sorry." Silence, as she perused through the tracks on the jukebox. "It's just...I was worried he  _might,_ y'know."

Krissie stopped what she was doing and turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. "He might  _what,_ exactly?"

"Well, y'know, fancy the guy. The one-"

"I know who you mean," she said, and he seemed to relax slightly.  _Strange. I thought he would've done the opposite._  "Just because Loras seems to want to hit on him doesn't mean the opposite is true, Lister, you ought to know that."

"Mm." He stared at his feet for a few seconds, then perked up a remarkable amount and stabbed his finger at a song on the jukebox. "Hey, put this one on, will you?"

Krissie followed his finger and frowned. "That sounds more like food than a guy's name, Lister. Who the hell calls their kid 'Meat Loaf', anyway?"

"How should I know? I've heard this one before, though."

She rolled her eyes and put the coin into the machine before pressing the button as he asked, then collapsed back into her seat just as, simultaneously, Kryten arrived with their drinks, and an oddly familiar tune started blasting through the loudspeakers.

 _A D Sharp, an E, a D Sharp..._ She couldn't help but plot out the sheet music in her head.  _Maybe I can try playing this later._

"With all due respect, Ms Kochanski ma'am, what  _is_ that unbearable racket?" Kryten asked, whispering as he bent down to speak into her ear, setting down a new glass of wine in front of her.

Lister glared at him, although his eyes were now glazed over with drunkenness. " _That,_ " he said, "Is music, Kryters."


	3. All Revved Up With Nobody To Dance With

**Ship time: 1900 hours.**

**Kochanski's bunkroom.**

* * *

After the party - which, thankfully, had lightened up soon after Lister picked that song and started playing air guitar along to it - they had all walked around the promenade together, joined now by the Cat, Sansa and Tommen, who clung to the former's leg like glue until the Cat yelled something about creases and the boy ended up quivering behind Margaery, being careful to stay in her shadow as they all went along. Lister had shown Tommen all of the shops in turn, explaining what was sold in each one (although Krissie supposed that really nothing was  _sold_ anymore, just taken since all of the retail workers had died millennia ago in the accident) while the little prince continuously clasped his hands together in glee and beamed at everyone and everything he saw from then on, while Krissie took Margaery and Sansa to some of the more...feminine shops. Rimmer had stayed behind with Kryten and Loras, cheerier but not entirely forgiving of Lister still. Although she had to admit, Lister leaving him alone with that boy was taking some guts, so he ought to have been at least  _somewhat_ grateful...  


Now, the three of them - the three  _girls,_ that is - were huddled up together on Krissie's bunk, painting their nails. At first, they had both stared at her as if the suggestion was too ridiculous for words ("Why in the name of the Seven would we put paint on our  _feet?_ ") but once she'd explained a little more thoroughly as to how it worked, they had both complied. Every colour of nail varnish known to woman was taken out of the lockers in the officer's decks, especially the silvery glitter stuff Krissie's old bunkmate use to use when she went out to parties, and she'd also gotten Holly to find some slower, romantic songs to put on in the background while they made themselves up.

"I still don't get why we're doing this," Sansa said as she blew on her toes and frowned as the varnish dribbled off her toenail and down onto the rest of her foot. "It seems rather pointless."

"I admit that it does seem a rather weird thing to do," Margaery allowed, "But I like it. Makes me feel good."

"Me too," Krissie agreed. "You guys are lucky - you haven't been stuck with those boys for months on end."

Margaery regarded that comment with horror. "You mean...you're the only woman onboard?"

"I was, yeah. What about it?"

"So...you're dating all of them, then?"

Krissie stared at her. "No! Why would I do that?"

"Well, it's your duty, isn't it?"

"No it isn't!"

She frowned. "But you're a woman, and you aren't already married, are you?"

"I'm not an Elizabethan though!" Krissie snapped, putting down the pot of nail vanish with a clunk on the edge of the bunk room sink and glaring at her company. "Anyway, Lister and Rimmer...they aren't like that, are they?"

"What, because they're gay? My ex-husband was gay, you know. Before he died."

 _Oh yes, that Renly bloke. Although I wasn't aware that dying altered your sexuality. Well, not unless Rimmer used to be straight..._  "Yes well. Where I come from, people aren't required to marry a member of the opposite sex to be considered a  _normal_ pers-"

Before she could finish speaking, Margaery had pulled her close and covered Krissie's mouth with hers, and she heard Sansa gasp behind them as the other woman ran her hand through Krissie's hair as the kiss went on, and on, and on.

And when she let her go, all she could say was, "That was...different."

* * *

**Ship time: 1945 hours.**

**Cafeteria.**

* * *

"Not all cats like being hugged, buddy. Get used to it."

Tommen whimpered again as Cat veered away from him a fourth time. "But Mother said..."

"I don't care what your mum said, dog's breath! You'd crease my suit!" As if to enhance the point, he patted his sleeve. "That's silk, monkey."

"But-"

There was a loud sigh from the other end of the room. "He already said he doesn't care, you little moron," Loras muttered as he turned the page in his book, leaning back against the wall with his feet up on the nearest table. "So stop with your whining already."

"No need to be mean, monkey."

"Was I  _talking_ to you, Mr my-teeth-are-sharper-than-my-clothes?"

Cat glared at him, then hung his head offendedly. "I'll have you know that this is one of the sharpest outfits on board this ship."

"Is it really? I'd hate to see what your idea of _ugly_ is, then, if you consider _that_ attractive."

"Hey, shut up alphabet head!" he shouted back, trying in vain to remember which insult he'd earlier attribuited to this flashy good-for-nothing intruder.

He'd picked the wrong one, though - that was the one he saved for referring to Rimmer - and Loras let out a long, sarcastic laugh, almost like a twisted chuckle. "You're pathetic."

Cat glared at him, then went back, very reluctantly, to licking the dirt from his shirt lapel.

* * *

**Ship time: 2010 hours.**

**Lister and Rimmer's bunkroom.**

* * *

"Did you hear what happened to Krissie earlier?" Lister nearly shouted as he bumbled into the room, pulling his t-shirt off over his head as he made his way over to the sink to brush his teeth. Rimmer wasn't sure why he still bothered, but he waited patiently enough until he then climbed into bed beside him and started re-arranging the pillows.  _As always._ "Apparently that woman kissed her."

Rimmer rolled his eyes. " _That_ woman, Lister? What woman?"

"You know the one." As if to elaborate, he held his hands apart about a foot. "Y'know, boobs about that long. Long hair, very sexy."

 _And they call him modest? Mature, even. What a load of purile nonsense._ "You don;'t measure breasts in length, Lister."

"Huh, don't you?" Rimmer shook his head again, trying very hard not to laugh at his boyfriend's intrepidness, then he frowned. "How  _do_ you measure 'em, then?"

"In cup size. Although that's not really any of your business, considering how you have more..." He pulled Lister closer and went to kiss him, breathing on his chest, " _Important_ things to worry about just now."

Despite however 'sexy' Rimmer might've seemed to him then, though, he wasn't giving up without an explanation.

"But I don't think these Westerosi - yeah, Rimmer, that's what they're called, I checked; no, don't gimme that look, you smeghead - I don't think these Westerosi women  _wear_ bras, you see. Don't seem to need 'em: nothing wrong with flashing yer chest a bit here and there where that lot comes from."

Again, Rimmer went to kiss him, and thankfully this time he relented and kissed him back. And, for a few blissful minutes, Rimmer thought that maybe tonight everything might go back to normal again. Until, of course...

"But what's wrong with  _our_ gender norms, then?" Lister demanded, breaking away mid-snog. "Why the smeg can't our Krissie walk about with her tits out?"

RImmer threw his face into the pillow nearest him and groaned. "It's called being decent in public, Lister. Now can we  _please_ have this conversation later? I just want to go to sleep."

"Sorry, Rimmer, can't hear you. D'ya mind not having your face full of pillow?"

He didn't deign to answer, and instead decided to start counting prostitutional robot sheep.

* * *

**Ship time: 2330 hours.**

**Krissie's bunkroom.**

* * *

A long, long time after the kiss was finished, and after Krissie had run off to wash her mouth out, since Margaery's kiss had tasted of licorice, apparently, and come back feeling soapy and horrid, they were dancing. And not just your bog-standard, 'shuffle about to pretend you aren't a total loner' dancing, either, but proper, _decent_ dancing. Like, ballroom dancing, almost.

Poor Sansa, though, was being forced to sit by herself on the bottom bunk, watching as Margaery dipped Krissie down, nearly so that her head touched the floor as well as just her hair, then pulled her back up in a flurry and spun her underneath one elegantly outstretched arm.

 _It isn't fair,_ she decided as she pulled at a loose thread on the jumper one of the male crewmates had given her - he'd said at the time that it used to belong to the captain's wife, so said the man with the letter stuck on his forehead - and then muttered at herself angrily.  _You shouldn't ruin other people's things, Sansa, it isn't nice. It's just like that time when Arya tried to ruin all your things, and..._

Unbidden as they were, tears outlined her eyes as a mental image of her sister flashed into her head - Arya Stark, third child and younger daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark, left all alone by herself where only the Seven knew she was, with nobody to look after her, and no big sister to tease, or big brother to hide behind...

Jon had tried to cheer her up, he really had, but it just wasn't worth it, they both knew it wasn't. She was gone, just as good as dead now with the sorts of things that were going on right now, and since she hadn't ended up on this floating tank of nonsense? If whatever had brought Sansa here had the power to take Oberyn Martell from Dorne and Jon from the Wall, then why not Arya?

Simple answer: it couldn't bring the dead with them.

Long answer? Well, that involved trying to explain what would've happened to her, so...

"Sansa, are you all right?"

Krissie had come back in now, wiping the corner of her mouth with a bit of paper towel, and was staring at Sansa with the  _strangest_ look on her face...she'd been rocking again, hadn't she? Stimming without noticing - Jaime had told her how much she did it, but she'd forgotten in all the fuss about being transported through a wormhole...Quickly, though, she hugged herself to stop from doing it any longer, just in time as Margaery followed on Krissie's heels, then bent down and kissed Sansa as well.

 _Oh, so you haven't replaced me_ just _yet, then? Hoped not._

"I was just telling Kristine about our... _arrangement,_ " Margaery explained as she sat down and crossed her legs casually, licking her lips. "She says the men here have the same thing in place. Only apparently one of them doesn't like sex very much." She turned to Krissie. "Isn't that very boring for him? I mean, what does he do in the meantime?"

She snorted. "Oh, I assure you that Rimmer has quite a lot on his mind other than...that."

"Yes, but what, exactly? Perhaps he has a lot on his mind, but what does the man actually _do?_ "

 _I thought she said he was dead,_ Sansa thought, frowning.  _I didn't think the dead could do all that much._

"He's a technician." Kristine - Samsa didn't like calling her Krissie - said, "but he's always wanted to be an officer. He's forever revising for exams. Well, if you call what he does revising, anyway." 


End file.
